


this is trouble

by orphan_account



Category: Hit the Floor (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Grinding, Hand Jobs, M/M, Roommates, patooties in love they just dont know it yet ok, zero is gideon here ty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 20:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7403455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Are you gonna—?" he asks, and his eyes travel down Jude's body quickly and then back up.</p><p>"I—" Jude clears his throat, his dick twitching in his pants. "Should I? I mean—I'm just here for, like—support."</p><p>Gideon narrows his eyes. "Support," he repeats, flatly.</p><p>"I'm literally giving you a hand," Jude points out.<br/><br/>or: the college au in which they're roommates and jude walks in on zero trying to get off and gives him a hand. because that's what friends do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is trouble

**Author's Note:**

> i am not sorry. this is hurried and i think i went off the rails for a while in some parts but eh. been wanting to write zude for months and i'm glad i finally got it out of my hairrrrrrrrrrr.

Jude is sure he's ninety-five percent asleep the moment he unlocks the door to his room, laptop bag and books held loosely in his arms. Honestly, he doesn't care if he drops everything on the floor, Jude is fucking _tired_ and a little bit _pissed_ , all he wants to do is take his clothes off and crash face-first on his bed and sleep until the week is over. He wasn't made for college. It's a scam, the whole thing, Jude has given up already.

And then fucking Gideon has to go and yell "What in the actual _fuck_ , Kinkade," and make Jude actually drop everything and lose ten years of his fucking life because not only does Gideon have a very high-pitched timbre going on there that he'd never noticed, no, he also happens to be lying on his bed, face flushed and sweaty, jeans barely open, hand around his cock.

Jude stops dead for about two point five seconds and then he's pushing the door closed and himself against it, traumatized for life, Jesus fuck, college _is_ going to be the end of him, what the fuck, he did not sign up for any of this. One of his fists is still on the doorknob while he blinks and gapes at Gideon and his very naked, very hard dick, and the other one is pointing an accusing finger at him.

"What—"

"Fuck—"

"Oh my god—"

" _Fuck_ —"

If Jude takes another step back he's going to become one with the door. He'd be down for that, he _so_ would. Gideon grabs one of his pillows and covers his crotch, eyes wide and cheeks flushing even redder, his chest heaving. Jude waves his hands wildly because what the fuck, they've talked about this. "You know the rule!" he yells, almost hysterical. "You're supposed to put your music on and _loud_ whenever you're about to have some me-time so I can be someplace else that isn't here! Like right now!"

Gideon sputters for three long seconds. "I thought you were gonna spend the night at the library again! You _said_ you would!"

"I said _I'd stop by the library after my exam_ , you dimwit!" Jude throws his hands up for emphasis, averting his gaze because there might be a pillow on Gideon's crotch but it doesn't mean his dick isn't _there._

Jude thinks it's hella weird how they're still _talking_ right now—while Gideon obviously still has a hand down his pants—like it's no big deal, like there's not a boner at stake right now, like they do this all the time, discuss their rules for peaceful jerk-off sessions while one of them is half naked and the other one has been mainlining coffee for the past thirty six hours.

Which they don't, by the way.

See, college is a fucking _Scam_.

The silence that follows is heavily charged and slightly awkward; Jude takes in—because it's hard not to, no pun intended, Jesus Christ—Gideon's state: hair a mess, skin sweaty, eyes a little glazed over. It's like when he's been on the court, both excited and tense to the point of pain because it's a rush of adrenaline too big and all too soon for his body to take.

And that's the weird part, Jude thinks, because he knows from Terrence how difficult it is to get it up afterwards (now _that_ had been awkward because Jude had only asked for an interview for the college paper and somehow—he blames Jelena—they'd ended up talking about sex), how drained his body becomes the later it gets after a game. It's like a sugar high gone wrong or something like that. Also there's the fact Jude and Gideon have been roommates since they were freshmen and Jude knows shit about him that no other human being knows, and when most of the team goes to after-parties, Gideon never stays till too late, which means he doesn't get to pull, and this is all very theoretical because there's _no_ way Jude knows, no—he just suspects it because if he'd be out getting some, Jude would _know_ , and judging by the dampness darkening the underarms of his grey t-shirt, the tightness around his eyes and the fact he's gripping the pillow on his crotch like he wants to both chuck it across the room and maybe scream into it—or hump it, who the fuck knows, really—tells a different story.

Jude realizes he's been holding his breath for too long and exhales loudly.

"You—" he starts, but Gideon groans, throws his head back into the pillow still under it, his neck a pretty, long line of skin as he says, "Jude, _please_ —" and that, _that_ has Jude swallowing down his own tongue. Jude doesn't know what the fuck is happening, what Gideon meant, if it was a _Jude, please get over here_ or if it was a _Jude, please get the fuck out and leave me alone_ , and in Jude's stupid-hazed brain, he doesn't even care enough to actually leave, like a sane, normal person would do.

He says, "Are you— Have you been at it since you texted me?"

"What are you even talking about?" Gideon asks, though he directs his question to the ceiling rather than to Jude.

Jude lets go of the door knob, takes a small step forward because apparently he can't think at all right now. "We talked, right, so like— What? Three hours ago? Have you—" he swallows, takes a deep breath and, since Gideon is still having a staring contest with the ceiling, forces the words out, "Have you been jerking off _since then_?"

Gideon's fingers tighten a little on the pillow, Jude can see them flexing even from where he stands. Come to think of it, though, he isn't standing that far away to begin with, their room is pretty small to begin with. "I—" he starts, and then sighs heavily, lifts his head and looks straight at Jude. "Yeah," he says, and his lower lip sticks out a little and Jude _hates_ him because what kind of grown-up pouts while having his dick (his _hard_ dick) out and proud in front of another grown-up?! "Yeah, I thought I could, y'know…" he waves vaguely at his crotch and then at the room and that somehow is supposed to mean _get off while I was alone_ , which _doesn't_ , by the way, but Jude's gonna let it slide, "But I'm—it's not working. Like. I've had a crazy couple of days and I can't seem to—"

"Oh—"

"Yeah, it's—I don't wanna say it's _hard_ —"

"Oh my god, are you serious—"

"—but yeah. Fuck." Gideon drops his head back again, an exasperated sigh escaping his mouth.

"That blows." Jude winces when Gideon snorts, adds, "I didn't—" but he doesn't finish, just smacks his lips together, takes a big step back. "Well. I guess I should, uh—leave you to it. Right."

Except he doesn’t. He just stands there, hand on the knob while the other one starts to sweat a little and what the fuck, seriously, did Jude step into some sort of alternate reality? Did they slip something in his coffee this morning? This is all a plot to destroy him, isn't it? It totally is.

Gideon breathes in deeply. "Or," he says, and Jude freezes on the spot, eyes—for some reason—glued to the white pillow on Gideon's crotch. "Or you could. You could help. Maybe? I mean—not that you _have_ to, because _why_ would you have to, right? But. Maybe."

Jude opens his mouth once but no sound comes out. He's pretty sure his brain just, sort of, melted. He looks around the room like he expects this to be a joke—a _very_ bad one, mind—but nothing happens; Gideon stays very still, still staring at the ceiling, and Jude shifts his weight from one foot to the other, still not knowing what to say.

It's not—they don't do that sort of thing. Jude would be lying if he said he's never thought about it—but it's not a thing that _happens_. Sure, they've kissed drunkenly, but they all have. Jude's certain he kissed Derek as a birthday present because they were too drunk when they met up at a club and he'd honestly forgotten his present in the cab. And then there'd be that drunken—very drunken—fumble with Lucas at Halloween, and then after a game while waiting for the guys to leave the lockers, but it was mostly kissing and a bit of ass-groping, nothing else.

He's pretty sure Gideon wasn't talking about kissing when he said "you could help," though. Jude's never touched a dick that wasn't his own and he's not sure he wants to start now because, like, what if he does it wrong? He doesn't want Gideon's broken dick in his hands. Literally and figuratively.

"I think—"

"It's okay, never mind—"

"I mean—"

Gideon makes a strangled sound, smoothing his fingers along the surface of the pillow and _that_ makes Jude's heart stutter in his chest. "It's okay, Jude, just—"

Jude swallows. "I've never done something like that," he says, very slowly and very seriously and, surprise of all surprises, very levelly. Alternate universe, seriously.

"What, you've never jerked off before?" Gideon asks, looking at Jude now, a smile curling his lips, and Jude, for whatever reason, feels his chest expand a little, air flowing easily into his lungs.

"I've never jerked _someone else_ before," is what Jude says, and Gideon sits up a little, propping himself up on his forearms while he fixes Jude with a calculating stare.

"You're oddly calm about this," he says, quietly, and Jude shrugs, licks his lips and doesn't miss the way Gideon's fingers tick on the comforter.

"If you want me to freak out, I can totally freak out," Jude says, and takes a small step forward, eyes locked with Gideon's. "I don't think that's what you want me to do, though."

Gideon shakes his head stiltedly, "No, it's not."

"Why," Jude starts, and has to start again, taking another step towards Gideon's side of the room, waving lazily at his slumped form. "Why are you dressed, though, like. Isn't it easier if you—dunno, if you're, like, naked?"

Gideon cocks one eyebrow, but his lips are tugged in a real smile, calm and quiet. "Do you wanna undress me, Kinkade?"

"I'm just saying, man," Jude says, holding his hands up as his knees hit the edge of Gideon's mattress by the foot of it, "Whenever I get off, I don't wanna be choked to death by my own shirt. Also, zippers are a bitch and they _bite_."

Gideon laughs and sits up all the way, nods his head as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. "No, yeah, apparently I didn't think this through," he mumbles, and starts pulling it over his head and slowly—very slowly, way too slowly—skin becomes visible, Gideon's smooth and rippled stomach making way to his chest and his shoulders and Jude's seen it all before, he's seen Gideon naked an awful lot of times in the years they've known each other because this piece of man has no decency.

It doesn't explain why suddenly all that skin makes his mouth dry.

Gideon holds his t-shirt with both hands, on top of the pillow, and then carefully looks up at Jude. "Are you gonna—?" he asks, and his eyes travel down Jude's body quickly and then back up.

"I—" Jude clears his throat, his dick twitching in his pants. "Should I? I mean—I'm just here for, like—support."

Gideon narrows his eyes. "Support," he repeats, flatly.

"I'm literally giving you a hand," Jude points out.

Gideon laughs silently through his nose, his chest moving with it. "This is gonna be terrible," he says.

It strikes Jude right then, that he has no real reason to be doing this. Like, sure, he's a good friend and everything but this is _beyond_ his friend duties and even roommate duties. He's read the handbook, fine print and all appendages. If Gideon were ever to ask him down the road, "hey, Jude, remember that time you helped me get off? Hey, no, seriously, why'd you do it?" Jude would gape and then bury his face in the nearest pillow and pray a hole would open under his feet to swallow him down rather than provide a full, coherent answer.

Jude is going to blame all of this on final's week and the coffee he buys from the Social Studies building.

_Why is Jude doing this?_

Hopefully they won't talk about it and no one will know and it'll be one of those things Gideon and Jude never talk about, no matter how drunk and clingy they are.

And suddenly—suddenly Jude's brain comes up with all those things he'd thought he'd buried deep and it's—there's a bitter taste at the back of his tongue, like whenever he lied to his mother and she'd look at him with that disapproving stare of hers. It's probably not a good idea to be thinking about his mother right when he's deciding he's going to touch Gideon's junk, but Jude's brain works like this, it doesn't stop to think things through, especially when it comes to Gideon and that's not something Jude likes to admit out loud.

Jude swallows past the lie, past the _this isn't a big deal_ , and it's weird how the light catches in Gideon's eyes when he smiles a little because it's like Jude can see the lie staring back at him. It's a weird thought to have, leaves him feeling like his skin is pulled too tight over his bones.

He gets a hold of the hem of his own shirt, takes it off before he can talk himself out of it, and drops it on Gideon's desk chair. When Gideon raises both his eyebrows, Jude shrugs. "Might as well," he says, and Gideon's lips quirk in a way that makes Jude's teeth start to itch.

He kneels on the bed and slowly makes his way over, until he's straddling Gideon's knees and—just waits. Gideon looks at him carefully, still half lying down, and nods once, sitting up and closing the distance between them, if only a little. Jude looks down at the pillow and his lips quirk a bit, "You better wash that later."

Gideon chuckles. "You trying to kill the mood?"

"Dude." Jude raises his eyebrows. "If you're still hard I'm gonna call an ambulance 'cause I'm pretty sure that's unhealthy."

And just like that— _just like that_ , Gideon grabs the pillow by a corner and flips it off and his dick is _right there_. He's not—thank God and Jesus and Mary—hard anymore and Jude swallows, looking away for a second before he finds Gideon's eyes still on him.

"No ambulance, then," he says, and Gideon smiles. Jude smiles back, not quite sure how he manages to do it because he feels pretty numb all over, and clears his throat. "Okay, so. How do we—? Do we make out? Do we just get down to business? How does this work?"

Gideon licks his lips. "Only if you want to. The kissing, I mean."

"Alright," Jude breathes, and then shuffles closer, Gideon rearranging himself under him while pulling on his boxers until his cock is out of the way. "That kinda defeats the purpose, you know," he says quietly, and Gideon smiles a surprised smile at him.

"I don't wanna chafe," he says, stops a little with his hands hovering uncertainly over Jude's hips before he casually drops them there, his thumbs pressed to the bony tips of Jude's hips peeking over the waistband of his jeans. It makes Jude's breath catch, and Gideon is polite enough not to point it out while he leans up, closer and closer, until their faces are inches away. "Right," he says, "so."

"So," Jude repeats, his hands finding purchase on the warm curve of Gideon's shoulders. They stare at each other for five slow, dreadful seconds, and then Jude sighs, closes his eyes, murmurs, "Go for it," and feels Gideon's reply against his lips, a quiet, "Okay, yes."

It's simple, as far as kisses go. Gideon's lips are chapped and warm and they move confidently against Jude's, slow and tender and almost carefully. It's too—it's too _nice_. It makes Jude's stomach flutter anxiously, makes his fingers slide up Gideon's neck and cup the sides of his jaw, his thumbs stroking slowly at the hinge, rough skin under the pad of his fingers. It's too much and too good and _too intense_ even when it's the chastest kiss Jude's ever taken part in; he pulls back with a soft pant, his lungs burning all the way up his chest and neck and face, and when he opens his eyes, Gideon's breathing deeply through his nose, eyes still closed and lips parted.

Jude feels his lips burning, thinks, _why haven't we done this before?_ and then decides to go no further with that thought—only madness lies that way and Jude's got enough of that right now like to add some more. His thighs are killing him and if he doesn't ease the tension on them he's going to have cramps until next week, so he shuffles his knees closer to Gideon's body, presses them to his thighs as he sits carefully on Gideon's lap.

"Okay?" he asks slowly, swallowing heavily when Gideon licks his lips.

"Yeah, it's fine," Gideon says, and he leans in closer. "Can we—? Again?"

Jude nods, heart thumping. "Yeah, absolutely," he whispers, and closes the distance between them, presses his lips to Gideon's once more, moving carefully and gently, and this time is better, this time Jude knows how to move, how to draw back and tilt his face and draw in again. He parts his lips slowly, easily, and Gideon's right there with him, his hands squeezing at Jude's hips while his tongue, curious and careful, licks at Jude's lower lip.

It gets hotter after that.

It's still good, intense in a way that doesn't have any right to be. Someone is making noises, someone is moaning quietly at the back of their throats and Jude doesn't know if it's his throat or Gideon's but he doesn't care; he grows confident with them, his hands sliding up until the tips of Gideon's hair brush at his fingers, and then he's burying said fingers in the short, dark strands, their mouths still connected, Jude's tongue still inside Gideon's mouth, warm and soft and _good_ , fuck, so good.

When Jude pulls away to breathe what feels like years later, Gideon's forehead fits against his chin, and he's breathing hard, warm and damp against Jude's throat, and Jude's still clutching at the back of his head, fingers woven deep into his hair. Gideon's hands move, fingers splayed all across the skin of his hips until they're pressed to Jude's lower back, gentle and firm.

"I'm gonna—" he says, low, and then presses his lips to Jude's Adam apple, damp and soft, kissing the skin before Jude feels wetness and then the bare hint of teeth and—

"No hickeys," he murmurs, but his treacherous body presses closer, impossibly closer, and Gideon holds him there, both hands still on his back. "Lionel will ask questions."

Gideon eases off his neck and blinks up at him, lazily. "Thinking about Eliot while in bed with someone else, Jude? Really? How ungentlemanly of you."

Jude smiles sideways, tugs on Gideon's hair and decides not to even take notice of how Gideon's lids flutter closed at it. "She'll be insufferable if she finds out, trust me. I'm just looking out for both of us; you know she's a horrible boss-slash-step-mom."

"You're a menace," Gideon says, but it lacks heat, and his lids are lowered and Jude doesn't know what to make of it, not even when Gideon dips his head and puts his mouth against his collarbones, kissing gently at the skin.

Jude doesn't say anything to that, either. He breathes in and catches the scent of Gideon's shampoo, the spicy scent of skin and cologne and day-old body soap, and when he licks his lips, he can taste Gideon in them, and it's _crazy_ , it absolutely is. When Jude had first put his hands in Gideon's shoulders, not ten minutes earlier, they'd been tight, tense, and now that Jude doesn't have to close his eyes, he can _look_ , can see the skin shifting under Gideon's jaw and neck as his lips move, can see the strain of his arms as he holds Jude close and tight.

Tilting his head until his nose is an inch away from Gideon's ear, Jude lets his weight sag, lets himself press closer into Gideon's body at the same time he drags his nails carefully down the back of Gideon's neck, and it makes Gideon arch against him, groaning softly and uttering a choked, "Shit," against Jude's throat that's more air than anything. "That felt good," he murmurs.

"Good." Jude does it again and Gideon shivers. "You—you gotta tell me when it doesn't. What doesn't. Okay?"

Gideon nods instead of answering, and when he lifts his head, his cheeks are flushed pink, his mouth red. He doesn't ask this time and Jude doesn't mind, just pushes their mouths together again, slowly and deeply and like they're in no hurry because they _aren't_ , and what a weird thought to have, really. It's so weird, _taking their time_.

He's growing a little uncomfortable in his pants, and his hips threaten to snap forward every time Gideon sucks on his tongue just _right_. Gideon is awfully good at sucking and Jude's trying really hard not to think about those lips sucking _something else entirely_ because there's only so much sanity he can hold onto at the moment. Rather than focusing on that, he puts a hand on Gideon's chest and pushes gently, and they slowly end up horizontal, flat on the bed with Jude on top, still kissing and breathing into each other's mouths.

The change makes Jude perfectly aware of how much skin is in contact between them, how warm Gideon's chest is, how hard he is and how hard Gideon's getting, just by _this_ , by their mouths moving slick and wet against each other, and it's thrilling, because although Jude's had sex before, nothing compares to this, to Gideon moaning softly and breathlessly when Jude pulls away just so to trap his lower lip between his teeth and tug, to the way Gideon plants his feet on the bed and halfheartedly rolls his hips up.

Jude moans, out loud and breathless, the friction against his cock just right, but not nearly enough. He leans an elbow next to Gideon's head, his other hand still cupping the side of Gideon's neck, and they keep on kissing, slowly licking into each other's mouth, and Jude can't fucking breathe with how good it feels, Gideon's mouth on his, Gideon's _hands_ on him.

When Gideon gently scrapes his teeth along Jude's tongue, Jude shudders hard enough for their bodies to roll against each other, and Gideon grunts, heavy and hot, holding onto Jude's side while he rocks his hips up, building a slow rhythm that has the button of his jeans catching against the hem of Gideon's boxers. It's not annoying but it's distracting.

"Wait, my pants—" he says, and Gideon nods, barely moving his head, and lets go of Jude's sides to sneak a hand between them, and when his knuckles brush along Jude's stomach, his hips snap forward, and he has to drop his forehead onto Gideon's shoulder, breathing hard and ragged through his mouth, eyes clenched shut.

Gideon, the asshole that he is, chuckles deeply into his hair.

The waves of pleasure start right where Gideon's hand is, slowly popping the button free, and then he's lowering the zipper, one tooth at a time, his smile pressed to Jude's temple, and it drives Jude _mad_ , so fucking mad he surges up and licks Gideon's mouth open, kisses him hard and deep, burying a hand in Gideon's hair and tugging, not hard enough to hurt but hard enough to— _yes_ , to have Gideon moaning against his mouth, fingers caught between Jude's jeans and the elastic of his boxers.

He pulls away slowly, panting, knees and hands braced at either side of Gideon's body. "Fuck," he whispers, and Gideon laughs, rough and breathless, staring up at him.

"You're not gonna come _right now_ , are you?" he asks, voice teasing and warm and _fond_ , and what the fuck, it does _things_ to Jude's chest, the openness in his eyes, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck and coloring his chest.

He swats at his shoulder halfheartedly. "If you're gonna be a dick about this," Jude starts, and then smiles a little himself, Gideon snorting under him, moving his hands to frame Jude's hips and squeeze gently.

"I thought we were past the bad puns," he says, leaning up to kiss the corner of Jude's mouth, and it feels _so intimate_ Jude nearly keels over. It's a good thing he's lying down.

"You obviously know me better than that," Jude breathes, and Gideon smiles again, softly and lazily. Jude's heart spikes. "Are you gonna take my pants off or not," he asks, and his voice cracks in the middle of the question, unsure and nervous at how at ease they both seem to be while doing this.

Later, Jude is going to freak out. He's going to kick Gideon out and lock himself in this very room and put his music up loud enough to make the windows shake and he's going to rack his brain for every possible explanation, for every reason why this feels so easy, so good, so _normal_.

For now, though, he's going to smile down at Gideon's teasing smirk and lean up, sitting back on his haunches while Gideon reaches for his zipper and opens it all the way, shoving at the fabric until Jude has to sit back and let Gideon pull each leg in quick succession.

Jude has a hand on its way to Gideon's pants when Gideon pats it away and pulls them off by himself. He throws a smile at Jude at the same time he throws both pairs of pants towards his desk chair. "Done," he says, very proud of himself, and Jude rolls his eyes.

And then they—just sort of sit there, on the bed, on their boxers, with the sheets pooled around them and the light of Gideon's lamp casting yellow shades on their skin.

Jude swallows heavily, his thumb scratching at the hollow in his right knee as he stares at Gideon. "So, uhm, what now—"

He doesn't get to finish, in between Gideon's hand on his thigh and the way he crowds in on Jude, eyes searching—for what, Jude doesn't know, but whatever he finds on Jude's face must be the answer because he leans in and suddenly they're kissing again, open mouthed and wet and impossibly perfect.

They stumble sideways and into each other, Gideon on top this time, and Jude likes it, he really _really_ likes it, the weight of him making Jude sink deeper into the mattress, his hands on Jude's hair and one of his thighs slipping in between Jude's.

He knows they're not going to fuck, not the way it counts, but just the thought of it makes Jude moan softly into the kiss and pull Gideon closer by every bit of skin he can reach and pull on. Gideon complies beautifully, knees, hips, chests and mouths pressed tightly together, enough to make him breathless, and the drag of their hips is slow but maddening and Jude wants _more_. His head a messy string of _wantwantwant_ and _nownownow_ and, boldly, he sneaks a hand down Gideon's firm waist and lower still fingers catching of fabric, until he's got a palm full of Gideon's ass.

It's, apparently, the right thing to do, because Gideon starts sucking on his tongue like he's a man on a mission and that's pretty okay with Jude, absolutely fucking yes.

Gideon pulls away to nip hard on the hinge of Jude's jaw, says, "Next time," and rolls his hips pointedly, making Jude let out a curse, "I'm gonna fuck you proper, we'll take our time."

It's a miracle Jude can manage to both not come and keep on breathing, clutching at Gideon's ass the sheets under him. His hips snap up just _at the thought_ and what the hell does he mean _next time_ , why is this going to be a permanent thing, like, who gave Gideon the right—

"I hate you so much right now," Jude groans, hooking a leg on the back of Gideon's knee and bucking into him. " _So_ much, you have no idea. I'm gonna show Lionel all the hickeys, you are fucked."

Gideon grins into his neck, and then proceeds to bite down _hard_ , and Jude's dick twitches in his boxers and why the fuck are they still wearing clothes, what is that fuckery.

"Why're we still wearin' boxers?" he asks, voice breaking, moves his hand to slip down the band of Gideon's boxers, smooth skin under his fingertips. "It defeats the whole purpose, y'know, I'm just putting it out there."

"Do you ever shut up, Jude?" Gideon muses, his mouth somewhere close to Jude's left nipple, and _ohfuckingfuck_ —

"You know I don’t," Jude chokes out, because he _has to_ , because he's a little shit and because he's sure Gideon likes it enough to lick his way up his neck and kiss him breathless again, their hips moving in tiny little rolls that make Jude clutch onto Gideon's biceps, currently strained where he's leaning his elbows at each side of Jude's face and, _fuck_ , they're nice biceps and everything about Gideon is just so fucking nice Jude feels a lot more faint than he should.

Still Jude needs them to be naked, like, yesterday. He lets go of Gideon's biceps—reluctantly—and reaches for the hem of this boxers and starts shoving them down and there's a bit of flailing and Gideon is chuckling, laughter rumbling deep in his chest, and he's shoving Jude's underwear in return and, fuck, finally, fucking finally, they're naked and Gideon flattens him on the bed, just like twenty seconds ago, and their skin catches and slides, sweaty, and Jude is pretty much ruined for everyone else if sex with Gideon is like this.

Gideon wraps a hand around Jude's dick, strokes once, watching Jude's face, and Jude forgets how to _breathe_. "So there _is_ a way to shut you up," Gideon whispers, kissing the corner of Jude's slack lips. "I like it."

"Shut up," Jude murmurs, but it sounds more like a plea and he's cool with that, he totally is.

Gideon grins down at him and jerks him off tight and slow, his thumb tracing the slit at the tip and making Jude flush all over, buck into his fist and groan at the sight of his cock sliding wet with precome into Gideon's cupped fingers. He has half a mind to reciprocate, because despite it being the right thing to do, he wants to get his hands on Gideon's dick _really bad_ and the whole point of this was to help _him_ get off, not the other way around.

He tells Gideon this. Brokenly and admittedly half slurred, but he gets his point across.

Gideon just nips on his lower lip. "Trust me, this _is_ getting me off."

Jesus, that mouth of his. Jude is not going to survive.

He comes messy and sticky in between them, his eyes scrunched shut and his hands clutching at Gideon's bicep and his back, arching his back and aching all over it's so good. Gideon kisses his neck and the corner of his mouth and whispers _filth_ in between their mouths, and Jude is _fucked_ , god, he's fucked _so good_.

And then Gideon is using his come-covered hand to jerk himself off, the tip of his cock sliding along the mess of come and sweat on Jude's stomach and it's the hottest thing to ever happen in the history of the fucking world, Jude cannot find his words. He leans up as far as he can, cupping Gideon's face with both hands, and pushes their mouths together. Gideon _mewls_ , makes these choked-off little sounds that Jude has never heard before and he moans a little in response, sucking Gideon's tongue into his mouth because _next time_ he's going to go down on him like a fucking—a fucking—

Gideon comes with a wheezy moan, weight dragging him closer to Jude's, his fist still moving as hot come strikes Jude's stomach and, fuck, Jude is sixty percent sure he comes again, dry, his cock twitching when a stray drop of come lands on it. He's completely ruined, he is completely ruined for life. He kisses Gideon through it and holds him close, lets him breathe a little in between kisses and soft gasps.

After a while of lazy kissing, Gideon pulls away and rolls halfway off Jude. They're disgusting and sweaty but nothing will make Jude move right now. Absolutely nothing.

"Go on a date with me," Gideon whispers into his collarbone. "Tonight. Have dinner with me."

Okay, so maybe one thing could make Jude move right now.

He tilts his face and nuzzles into Gideon's hair, grinning. "You gonna need help getting off afterwards?"

Gideon laughs, nipping at his throat. "Absolutely."


End file.
